


Plastic ballerina

by ca_te



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 20 June 2009.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Plastic ballerina

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 20 June 2009.

It is a calm morning. The air is almost transparent. Yukimi tries to keep Miharu's lightness between his fingers.

The sound of the sea is low, a tune at the back of the ear.

Miharu sits at a white table. His legs are dangling under the chair.

The wind is like a whistle through his hair.

Yukimi watches him, leaned against the rail. Only the water below. The air tickles the base of his neck.

The empty sleeve lazily moves with the wind.

Yukimi wishes he had a camera, because Miharu's skin right now is white as sea foam.

On the table there are two cups. One was filled with coffee. One has still cafe-latte in it.

Yukimi thinks Miharu eats like a little bird. Slowly, little pieces. He licks his lips after every bite. His lips have a soft shade of pink.

"Like a doll" Yukimi thinks. He lights a cigarette.

Miharu lifts his eyes from the light brown inside the cup. He looks at Yukimi standing almost in front of the sun. He hears the sea. And the sea gulls over them.

Miharu thinks he likes to see things against the light.

And the blond edge of Yukimi's hair, that sleeve hanging there, make something feel less tight.

Miharu looks at his hands, at the sides of the cup. They have blue veins visible under the skin. He wonders if Yukimi is afraid to touch him.

The wood of the jetty creaks under Yukimi's shoes.

\- Finish your café-latte. C'mon.

Miharu takes the cup. The porcelain is cold under his fingertips. And there's smoke in his nostrils now. He doesn't care.

Yukimi watches the little movements of Miharu's throat as he swallows.

The sound of the cup over the plate is almost as pure as the air.

Miharu looks at Yukimi.

Yukimi looks at Miharu.

\- Lets go or we'll be late.

Miharu nods. He thinks a little. Then he lets the corners of his mouth rise up. Just a bit.

Yukimi ruffles his hair. They are soft. Like feathers.

Miharu gets up. Like a too small ballerina.

Yukimi thinks about an old story, "the tin soldier". There was a plastic ballerina in that story. The tin soldier was in love with her.

The wind pushes at their back. The car seems a tin can under the sun.

Miharu sits in silence, his eyes on the single hand Yukimi has.

Yukimi looks at the road. Thinking of black feathers and tiny plastic ballerinas.


End file.
